Ever Ever After
by windscryer
Summary: Fairy tales don't exist. Even if they offer to let you finish their crawling snake. Juliet/OMC, Shules
1. Once Upon A Time

This story started out as something completely different and frankly I still don't know how it ended up here. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

If they were mine this fairy tale would have a very different ending. And it would DEFINITELY be of the 'happily ever after' variety.

* * *

We met in a diner.

She stole my seat and my heart.

Today she's getting married.

I wish her luck. I wish her happiness. I wish her everything her heart desires and more than her mind can imagine.

But most of all I wish she'd chosen me to stand beside her, instead of behind her.

I wish . . . she loved me.

* * *

Review, please and thanks.


	2. There Was A Boy

Today's the day.

I've put it off for a lot of reasons—some that I won't even admit to myself—but that ends today.

I put on my smile, my mask, the one that hides just how important this is, how nervous it makes me, how the answer I get could make or break me, and walk up to her desk.

"Hello, Juliet."

Guh. What was that? I'm supposed to be carefree and vaguely idiotic, like I always am. Not . . . formal, restrained . . . _serious_.

But how to fix it? And why can't I _think_?

Oh right. Juliet.

She turns and smiles, her attention fully on me though she tries to hide it behind the file in her hand, the one she's supposed to be reading.

She thinks I don't see, that I'm too blind to notice it, but she couldn't be more wrong.

I notice everything. I was taught from a young age to do so, but really training can only do so much. It was the refinement of a talent I already had.

I'd love to tell her this so she wouldn't have to pretend anymore, but I can't.

Not yet.

"Hello, Shawn."

Her smile brightens when she sees me and the vague idiocy I wanted before is there.

It's just not as intentional and fake as it's supposed to be.

That's my Juliet. Saving the day even when she doesn't know what she's doing.

I can't keep looking at her or she'll notice I'm staring so I force my eyes away, randomly choosing a direction.

Holy- What is _that_?

Oh. Lassiter's tie.

My lip curls in instinctive revulsion. Where did he _get_ that thing?

Seriously. That's got a to be a crime against humanity.

But do we try the designer or the wearer?

Both. They're definitely both at fault.

"Lassie, that tie is . . ."

I can't tell him the truth. Not directly. It's like a game between us. I give him the truth shaded in just enough of a lie that it's hard to tell which it is.

"Daring," I decide.

I nod.

Good enough. Hideous would be more appropriate, but too true. Daring is just right. It _implies_ that he should be—and may be—shot for wearing it, but without actually _saying_ that he won't survive to see the sunset if the fashion police visit the station.

Lassiter looks down—my finger twitches in my pocket, desperate to point to his chest and then flick upwards, but that's not part of our game, so I repress it and move on—and thinks about responding to that before he remembers it's me.

That's his part of the game.

He can't acknowledge how much I annoy him in anyway that might encourage me. Not directly.

We have a very complex relationship.

"Did you need something, Shawn?" Juliet asks.

_I need you._

Now Juliet and I . . . our relationship is very simple.

We're friends. Good friends.

She trusts me, takes my word at face value, and whether we're working or just hanging out we have fun.

Just friends.

But today, that changes.

I amp my smile back up and direct it at her.

Like the sun and the moon, her own smile brightens in response.

We should go stargazing. I wonder if she likes stars?

"Shawn?"

Oops.

"Yes! I do need something, actually. I need to know what your plans are for Saturday."

She frowns, an adorable little wrinkle appearing between her perfectly sculpted eyebrows and it takes some pretty strong willpower to bring my eyes back down to hers.

"Why?"

"Well, there's this band playing at this club and the spirits thought you might enjoy hearing them play."

The frown wrinkle fades and I have to force my smile to not dim.

Then her eyes drop down and she closes the file and slides it into a pocket on the outside of her briefcase.

My smile is getting harder to maintain.

"So," I say, preparing a brilliant and witty line that will give her no choice but to agree.

"I'm sorry, Shawn," she says, but she's still not looking at me.

Why isn't she looking at me?

"I have plans already. Maybe another time."

Her eyes flick up and in that brief second I see the truth.

She's lying to me.

She doesn't have plans.

But why would she say she did if she didn't?

She's never outright lied to me, not seriously. She's jokingly said she had to wash her hair or walk her neighbor's dog, but she's never . . . actually . . . seriously . . . _lied_ to me.

It's all I can do to not demand to know why. To not demand to know why she feels the need to lie to me, why she can't say yes, why she can't just play along, even if it's all an act.

I don't need it to be real right now.

Given time I know I could make it real.

But if she won't even let me try . . .

She walks away.

Lassie's smug smile lingers along with his face and the rest of his body, before he slaps my shoulder, says something condescending and insulting with just a touch of unearned gloating, then follows her.

I'm left standing there, staring after them.

I missed something. I had to have missed something.

Because what I saw made no sense.

But I don't _miss_ things. I don't.

I was trained too well to miss things.

Well I've still got it all in my head. I just need to look again.

I'll find it.

And when I figure out what I missed, where I went wrong, I'll fix it.

I have to fix it.

Not fixing it is . . .

With a determined nod I head for the door and my bike.

I just need some peace and quiet and I can figure this out.

Today is still the day.

And it's not nearly over yet.

* * *

Review, please and thanks!


	3. Who Loved A Girl

I shouldn't be here.

This is the bride's room and it's where she goes from regular—fantastic, marvelous, spectacular, beautiful, one-of-a-kind—girl to fairytale princess.

It should be bad luck for me to be here.

But then, really, how much worse can my luck get?

I smile at her in the mirror and she smiles back.

She's gotten better. I can't even tell it's fake.

"Are you ready?"

I ask it and everyone thinks I mean 'Are you dressed?' 'Is your makeup perfect?' 'Is your hair done?'

She meets my eyes in the mirror and nods.

"I'm ready."

She answers and what she really means is . . . What _does_ she mean?

I smile and offer her a hand to help her stand.

I'm not ready.

I never will be for this.

I pat her hand and kiss her cheek.

"You look beautiful, Jules." _You're breaking my heart. I belong to you._

"Thank you, Shawn." _You're breaking your own heart. I belong to him._

I let her go and she walks away.

Time of death: _10:53 a.m._

Cause of death: _Single stab wound to the heart._

* * *

You know the drill. (It's the Mikita . . . right there . . . yeah. That one ;D)


	4. If Only the Girl Loved Him Back

She didn't have plans when I asked her.

I saw it in her eyes.

But by Saturday she does have plans.

She's found some guy to play the part of a date just to force me into the role of understudy.

Tonight I won't be making it on stage.

It's fake.

It's all fake.

I know that. Can see that in the awkwardness of the conversation, the stilted, unsure movements.

But as the night goes on it becomes real.

The lie becomes the truth, the play stops imitating real life and becomes it.

I'd think they were doing it for my benefit except they have no idea I'm here.

When things progress to the holding hands stage I leave.

I don't want to.

I want to go over there and punch that guy and tell him not to touch my girl.

I want to make a scene and scare him off and . . .

But no.

Juliet wouldn't like that. It wouldn't win me any points with her. It would only make her more determined to . . . what? What is her plan?

She can't be playing hard to get. If I wanted her any more it would be a crime.

Or make me commit a crime.

And no, I'm not committing one yet. This isn't stalking.

It's . . .

Oh man. It _is_ stalking.

So I let them go, oblivious to my presence as it ends.

I just stand there—for the second time that week—and let her walk away with someone else.

Juliet: 2

Me: 0

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	5. But She Loved Someone Else?

I take my place just behind Juliet's spot and to her left a little.

It causes a bit of a stir among the guests, though only among those who don't really know her.

For those who do I'm not at all unexpected.

After all, what girl doesn't want her best friend as her maid of honor?

I should be double checking to make sure that the everything is going fine, that everyone and everything is in place, but I can't.

There's a blind spot, some sort of weird blank thing, where _he_ should be.

I've done the best I can, but there's only so much you can ask of a guy.

He'll just have to handle his own placement. The rest of it is perfect.

I can't hear the minister either.

But he's done so many of these, I'm sure it's perfect.

It's all white noise, but I doubt he's actually up there, lips pressed together, little drops of spittle flying as he makes a bumblebee sound like a kindergartener.

Even if he looks like a kindergartener. How old _is_ he? Ten? Twelve? Is he even legally old enough to marry someone to the wrong person?

I'd look and make sure—because that would ruin the wedding in a _big_ way—but I can't do it.

And then suddenly the static is gone and I can hear his voice as clearly as if he were standing right in front of me, talking just to me.

"If anyone should have a reason these two should not be wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

He used up all of the oxygen in the room saying those words.

I'm about to start choking on the lack of air. I can feel it, my lungs seizing, demanding oxygen I can't give them.

I can't though. I can't ruin her wedding by suffocating to death just because the idiot minister didn't leave any air for the rest of us.

I knew we should have gone with the older guy. I bet he's never killed a wedding party by hogging all the air.

"I do."

I blink.

That sounded like Juliet.

The minister blinks and then smiles a little.

"That part is already past, my dear," he says quietly.

Oh no. I'm failing as a maid of honor. Juliet's nerves are getting the best of her and here I am worried about my own imminent demise.

"No," she says louder. "I mean . . ." She turns to look at her almost husband, the one that's only seconds away from taking everything I want, and says again, "I do."

"Juliet-" he says with a patronizing—understanding—smile.

"-Have an objection," she finishes.

Dead silence.

Seriously.

I think even the wind stopped.

I know my heart did.

"What?" There's confusion, honest confusion, and it's not just mine.

"I'm sorry," she says, head dropping forward in shame. "I thought I could . . . I thought I would . . ."

Her head comes up and she pulls back the veil to a chorus of dramatic gasps.

What is this, a movie set? I think as I look around at the audience.

And then I look at her.

Her makeup is ruined, streaks of color running down her cheeks and her neck, past her collar bone to pool in a messy little puddle of mixed colors at the top of her dress.

That's going to stain.

But this isn't just a little crying she's been doing.

Those aren't 'the happiest day of my life' tears.

She wipes at her face with one hand and sniffles wetly.

"I'm sorry," she says again. "I can't marry you. You deserve someone who is perfect and wonderful and . . . and not me." She sniffs again. "I hope you find her." She goes up on her toes for a kiss on the cheek, then sinks back down.

"Good luck," she whispers, pressing the ring he _just put on her finger_ into his palm.

And then she turns, grabs fistfuls of her skirt to keep it clear of her feet, and runs.

I should go after her.

I have to go after her.

As her maid of honor it's my duty to solve all problems, prevent or fix all disasters, make today perfect.

It's not the maid of honor that races down the aisle amid a growing clamor for answers, for explanations.

I'll leave that part to someone else.

I have a bride to catch.

* * *

Review, please and thanks!


	6. And They Lived Um

Everyone's gone when I finally find her.

I had to break off the search for an hour to clean things up and say goodbye and apologize to everyone, reassure her family that when I found her I'd make sure they knew she was alive and . . . well, alive anyway.

But now they're all long gone.

I know she's not.

No cars were missing, none of the bus drivers who stop nearby picked her up and no taxi drivers had a fare dressed in white satin and tulle and running for her life.

And there were no reports on the evening news about a runaway bride.

She's here somewhere.

I search the whole church top to bottom, down to the catacombs in the basement and up to the belfry. There weren't any bats, but there were some swallows up there. The place could use some Febreeze, that's for sure.

I don't know where she _was_ hiding, but when I return to the chapel she's there, sitting on the steps leading up to the altar, her eyes turned upward so she's facing the stained glass behind the pulpit.

The moon is shining down on her and I remember my long ago thought that we should go stargazing.

I sit down next to her, silent, but not unnoticed.

I think I'm going to have to wait a long time for her to work up the courage to speak.

I'm wrong.

"Fairy tales don't exist in real life, Shawn."

Having no immediate response I remain silent.

"I know that and yet . . ." She blows out a breath, wipes her face with the back of her hand.

She turns when I offer her the handkerchief from my breast pocket and accepts it with a weak sort of smile, her eyes immediately dropping as she mops up her face.

"I want you to know, that I didn't reject you because there was something wrong with you."

I blink.

Wait, _what_? What is that supposed to mean?

She looks up again, fresh tears welling in her eyes.

"It was because fairy tales _don't_ exist and you . . . You were a fairy tale, right there, in front of me, just waiting for me to jump into the story."

"I . . ."

I have no idea what to say. I'm so lost and confused. What does she _mean_ by that? I'm a fairy tale, but fairy tales don't exist?

How . . . What . . . _Huh_?

She laughs a little, obviously seeing my confusion—I hope she is anyway—and explains.

"The way we met was . . . kind of magical. And then we became friends and it was just all so . . ." She sighed, managing to make it both dejected and content. "Perfect."

"So . . ."

I still have nothing.

She turns to face me fully, taking my hand and folding it up into hers.

"I want a happily ever after, Shawn. I want it just like every other little girl does. But I'm not a little girl and I know that even if I get my happily ever after it won't be like that. It doesn't work like that."

"Why not?"

The words pop out before I even register they're in my brain.

Actually, I'm not sure they went through my brain.

She blinks.

"Because," she finally says.

"Because why?"

She opens her mouth but I've finally found my tongue and I'm not stopping now.

"Because they say so? _Who_, Jules? _Who_ says it doesn't work like that? And how do _they_ know? How the _hell_ do they know how it works? Because it didn't work for them? Well maybe that's because they didn't _let it_ work for them. They went in thinking it was impossible and you know what _I_ know? Not because I was told but because I've seen it happen and _felt_ it happen?

"I know that if you think you're going to fail before you even begin, then you're right."

"But-"

"What do you want, Jules? What do _you_ want?"

"I . . . I want happily ever after."

"With who?"

She swallowed, looking kind of like she might puke any second, but she just said, "You. I want it with you."

I smiled and leaned forward until our foreheads were touching and looking in her eyes was making me just a bit dizzy.

"Then let's go find it together."

She smiled.

We kissed.

Oh look. It was right there all along.

* * *

Review, please and thanks!


	7. The Point Is That They Lived

The music starts and my eyes are drawn towards the entrance along with everyone else's.

I have to swallow, rapidly, multiple times, I can't stop it, I can't- Can you choke on your own Adam's apple?

She's beautiful.

Of course she is.

And her appearance isn't a surprise.

I helped her choose the dress after all. And the hairstyle and the makeup and . . .

But somehow, standing here, on the right side of the altar instead of the left . . . It's different.

She . . . glows.

Seriously, I think she's glowing.

How- Oh. It's the sun.

It's hitting her just right through the window above and behind her.

Now that's what I call a sign from above.

I can't quite see her eyes, but when I smile I can see a shift in the shadows under the veil and I know she's smiling too.

Her father delivers her to my side.

He gives me a smile and a few words of encouragement—or warning, frankly I have no idea—and then he lets her go.

She turns to face me and I try to think of something to say, but I'm pretty sure that there are no appropriate words for this moment.

I refuse to use anything else.

So I just smile again and we turn as one to the minister.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the joining of this man and this woman in holy matrimony . . ."

* * *

Review, please and thanks! :D


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